January 31, 2006

# 36



For the past...at a guess...three months, I've been thinking about home. Constantly. For me, my home, as per definition rather than perception, is where I find my house. As such, home is the place I return to after procrastinating at work all day while getting paid reasonable wages to exercise my larynx, feet, fingers and patience. But I don't have a home here. It's a cruddy apartment with no actual wood anywhere in sight.

But hang on a minute fraction of time...It's not as simple as reducing something as provocative as this into a cheap status of definition like that. Is it?

Allow me to dilute the muddy waters a bit. For me, my home is no longer the same former home as it was prior to me spending close to forty-fucken hours (yeeha, a cheap flight!) getting to this country all those full moons ago. See, back then, home was in Cairns - because that's where my house was - and now Cairns is no longer my home because my house is no longer there. Sure, my former house (a.k.a. my former home) is there but my present house (therefore my present home) is in Adelaide, which is also the place of my former home prior to my present home's reassignment as my present former home. In other words, I lived in Adelaide then I moved to Cairns.

What I'm trying to convey is that having bought a home without actually having seen it, as well as having sold the home I had lived in for close to five years, surely makes for intriguing reading if undertaking a case study into the effect of stasis versus the effects of home sickness on the matter which comprises the human mind.

The time I've presently spent overseas weighs in at two years, seven months, thirteen days and a handful of hours. The time I've spent thinking about home - including the city of Adelaide - during the past three months weighs in at twenty-four hours minus sleeping time (dunno what I think about during sleep but it's bound to involve nudity; perhaps nudity at home?) each day, which is eighteen hours. Take away from that the amount of hours I physically work on any given day (on average this is two and a quarter) and you can bet your bottom dollar that I spend fifteen hours and forty-five minutes thinking about home each day. *

Unlike select fellow bloggers out there (*kisses*), I'm not blessed with the power to pull planets out of solar orbit and ditch them beyond view in order of possibly displacing myself from hyar over to thyar and into my non-existent bed in my recently acquired and very actual home in Adelaide. It's also not for want of wishing either.

What have I been doing to compensate for this inferior planet pulling power of mine? Well, I haven't stuffed the jocks with a couple of the world's heftiest boulders and the Suez Canal as would be Ultra Toast's guess, I'm guessing. Instead, I've used my powers of passivity wisely and allowed myself to be pulled into the orbital lives of regular Adelaidians unknown to me, giving me invaluable insight into all manner of life resembling the sheer hell that I seem to remember so clearly.

Don't get me wrong, fellow Adelaidians: I'm not insinuating that a lifestyle worse than existence as an experimental anal virus awaits me back home. No, no, no, no, no. The notion of sharing proximity with Lleyton Hewitt doesn't phase me in the least. Not a wee willy winkle bit with a yellow turtleneck sweater and kiddy song on top. Nor does accepting fate like an alpha male gorilla's throbbing pink member come the crack of dawn instinctively searching for prized companionship only to be thwarted by a phonecall from a representative of The Advertiser (newspaper) awaking me with enquiries of whether I'd care to have trash delivered to my house six days a week. Nothing like that, dear unknown friends.

What I am saying is that I've been genuinely interested in what's been happening in the place that was my original home when I initially crossed the great oceans of the world to arrive to my adopted country I now call Australia, no matter how regular, lame, tame, boring, insipid or any adjectival prodding I can summon the information is. I've been GETTING INTO IT and I shit you not very much, I've been digging it.

To those of you about to weep, I salute you...for you are easily pleased. To those of you wondering why I'd want to again live in Adelaide...because there's nowhere better to create tiny hands and smelly little feet and watch them evolve into obnoxious, whining beings.


* Excludes weekends.



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8 comments:

Jen said...

I wonder if Adelaide the family creating city should be my next within Australia stop.

I've done Cairns, Gold Coast/Brisbane, around NSW, around Victoria, Tasmania.. now where to?

Kaufman said...

I'm leaning towards the Apple Isle and then the entire state of Western Australia, personally, mostly because I haven't been and would love to see the natural and traditional (Aboriginal) wonders. But if you're of east coast residence, Adelaide's a decent week or two of relaxation and exploration. I'm a huge fan of anti-stress, as cities rarely rub me in an encouraging way. Adelaide has many valleys in which to lose yourself as you sip from the delicately crafted slipper of the country's delights.

Mind you, I haven't actually lived there for close to a decade, what with the Cairnsian and now overseas commitments...So, I could be way off.

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

Tassie rocks.

I lived there for a year. I had to wear a scarf to hide my unscarred neck.

Captain Berk said...

I liked that massive landing pad that is right in the middle. The big red one.

I landed a shuttle on it once because of it's tactical vantage point.

A bunch of natives came at me with spears, yelling something about 'uluru' and 'desecration', whatever that means.

I thought they wanted to mate with Uhura. It was a shame to have to vapourise them.

But I did.

I definitely did not leap about cackling at my technological superiority either.

Kaufman said...

UTMG: The backwards connotations of Tassieites has been the crux of lore since time first learned to walk.

Captain Berk: The red centre is definitely a place I'd also love to see before someone vapourises me. Like so many Australians before me, I've seen more outside of my own country than within. I'm blaming tourists for my lack of home exploration as I have no other way of explaining the four flat tyres on my car.

Marie said...

I've also been thnking a lot about Adelaide over the last few months. I've been away for almost six years and have always sort of kept in touch with friends back "home" but never really longed for it again until recently and I now find myself reading The Advertiser (kill me now) and lurking around Adelaide blogs just for a fix of home.

Maybe I just need to get out more.

Kaufman said...

Marie: For me, the experience of being away from Adelaide has been sweet and sour. I left because the place got to me, in pursuit of a new lifestyle in other parts of Australia, which I thoroughly enjoyed. In fact, it renewed the bond I have with my country. That experience helped establish a grounding of sorts, but it eventually led to another decision for change, this time in careers, which then brought me to my present overseas location. While I've been here for close to three years and thoroughly made the most of the cultural exchange and partaken in many memorable experiences, the quality of my way of life has been compromised, where so many things that one takes for granted in one's home country aren't even a consideration. I'm hyped to again feel the presence of grass beneath my feet; knowing that I can go out and eat the type of food that I crave; drink beer with friends from the comforts of a lounge suite in my own reverse cycled home and the general day-to-day things I associate with how I'm accustomed to living, such as signs in English and regular exchanges of opinions with obnoxious fellow Australians just like me.

My eyes are glazing over with an unfamiliar watery substance. Perhaps it's time to stop.

Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate your cooment.

Kaufman said...

...And your comment was also appreciated.

;)